


Most Happily (Ever After)

by magisterpavus



Series: pride & prejudice/regency era sheith AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Chronic Illness, Courtship, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: All in all, Keith thinks, it is shocking how well the once coldly polite and proper Mr. Takashi Shirogane has adapted to life in the Wild West.(Epilogue to "Most Ardently")
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: pride & prejudice/regency era sheith AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553047
Comments: 41
Kudos: 421





	Most Happily (Ever After)

**Author's Note:**

> SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA WRITE SAPPY HAPPY FLUFF.....and these 2 always deserve that but particularly in this AU. happy holiday season all! I hope this soft sheith (& more in the near future, too) will bring you some warmth as the nights get longer & the days get chillier. 
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support on "Most Ardently," it was an AU I wanted to write for a very long time so it means the world that it is a story others have enjoyed, too. I hope this serves as a satisfying ending for those who were hoping for a continuation - as well as a little glimpse into Keith's side of the story <3

All in all, Keith thinks, it is shocking how well the once coldly polite and proper Mr. Takashi Shirogane has adapted to life in the Wild West.

Shocking, yet wonderful. Keith loves nothing more than seeing Shiro happy, and there can be little question that he is happy here. 

At first, Keith was afraid it would not be so. He had spent many a night tossing and turning on their ship across the Atlantic, then even more nights crammed into their rocking train car across the country, fretting over how Shiro would take to this new life. He imagined endless nightmare scenarios, all of them ending in Shiro packing his bags and sailing back to England, never to return again. It had been easy enough to fantasize about sweeping Shiro off of his feet and bringing him home, but Keith knew all too well that fantasy was a far cry from reality.

With Shiro, however, those lines often blurred. 

In those early days, of sunny afternoons hidden away in the greenhouse and ducking behind the topiary during grand parties, Keith could hardly believe what they had was real. It felt like a fairytale, all of it. Shiro was ever the gentleman, yet just awkward and sly enough to be charming and genuine. 

He would kiss Keith’s knuckles one by one, working his way up to the curve of Keith’s neck, hiding shy praises in his hair before at last finding his lips. He would bring Keith flowers, even – organized displays with the symbolic meanings they had once discussed. Keith had never known quite what to do in return. His flustered replies had always felt inadequate. Keith did not know how to ‘court properly,’ as Shiro put it. He had asked Allura for help, but all of his studies on the matter had ended in frustration and defeat.

In the end, Keith had figured the only way he could adequately reciprocate what was given was in bed, in their stolen moments between dusk and dawn. Here, though, he also found trouble. Shiro did not want them rushing into things. He did not want Keith to be uncomfortable in any way. At first, Keith was defensive – he was a grown man who knew what he wanted, and with whom, and knew he was ready. 

But he had to remember Shiro’s own history. Shiro wanted him; he had expressed as much in so many ways. But for Shiro, there was a certain enforced separation between bodily desires and the love of the heart. For Keith, they were one in the same. It bewildered him when Shiro spoke of corruption and shame. Keith had heard plenty of the church’s teachings on that, of course. But none of that mattered to him, simply because he knew it couldn’t be true that it was a sin when being with Shiro felt right in every way.

He told Shiro this, again and again. It was a slow process, but Shiro was not unwilling to unlearn the bonds of guilt that had been placed on his own body. He was also not as patient as he claimed to be. Keith learned this lesson well on the first occasion that Shiro bedded him. They had been dancing around the subject for well over a week, over the course of which Keith had worn his riding clothes at every possible chance he got. He knew Shiro was weak for the sight of him in them. It was a dirty trick, but Keith never claimed to be above such tricks. He was also not above teasing Shiro in every other way he could think of. 

For all his reservations about carnal sins, Shiro was easily persuaded into kissing Keith, sometimes for the entire morning. Keith learned that wandering hands during these times did a great deal to fluster Shiro out of chastity. By the end of the week, Shiro was strung tight as a bow. The arrow flew that night when they retired together after dinner, and Keith found himself suddenly crushed against the expensive wallpaper with Shiro’s fingers digging into his thighs through the thin riding breeches, hoisting him up until Keith’s legs closed around his waist and the riding breeches were utterly ruined. It was exactly where he wanted to be. 

Later, when Shiro had ripped both of their clothing away like it was parchment, Keith kissed him everywhere he had been longing to, took Shiro into his mouth until Shiro pulled his hair, and rolled and rutted against him with sweaty enthusiasm until they both finished amidst breathless laughter.

After that, Shiro stopped talking about carnal sins and started talking about leaving for America with Keith.

Frankly, the idea had terrified Keith. Surely Shiro’s fantasy of Keith’s home would not measure up to the dusty reality.

But he should never have worried. Nearly a year since they had arrived here, at the ranch Keith was born on, and still Shiro’s joy for this life hasn’t waned. The West, with its sweeping vistas and bright clean air, is doing a world of good for Shiro’s health. He has not had an episode since their arrival in New York, which was a terrifying time for them both. 

The long ship ride across the sea had not done any favors to Shiro’s constitution. They had been lucky to have their own cabin thanks to Shiro’s inherited wealth – Keith thinks he would have died for certain if they had been in the common quarters belowdecks. Halfway through their journey, Shiro had started coughing, and hadn’t stopped. 

The ship was tossed through churning waves and stormy skies, and Keith held him tight through the chaos, his head resting on Shiro’s chest, listening to each rattling breath. When they made love on the ship, it was frantic and uneasy, both fearing that every time would be their last. A week out from their destination, Shiro had fainted and took too long to wake up – when he did, he did not know what was happening or where they were. 

Keith had nearly punched one of the immigration officials at Ellis Island, but instead he told them in no uncertain terms that Shiro would be entering the country, fever or not, and they could speak to Lady Allura of Rosings Park if they had any problems with that. After a heated argument and a panic when the officials realized exactly who Lady Allura was, they let them in, albeit on an ambulance. Shiro had laid pale, feverish, and coughing for almost half a month in a crowded city hospital. The doctors had worried it was tuberculosis, which Shiro surely could not have survived. But Keith never left his side. 

He did not care about contagion. He would not abandon Shiro when he needed Keith most. He knew the doctors must have talked about them – Keith had often fallen asleep at his bedside or with Shiro’s cold hand clasped tight in his own, his lips pressed to the golden band he had given to Shiro before they departed from England. Keith told the doctor they were brothers. Keith doubted any of the hospital staff believed that story for a second, but they kept quiet, anyway.

Then, one morning, Shiro sat up in his hospital bed, fever broken and eyes clear when he looked up at Keith. He had smiled and squeezed his hand, Keith’s matching golden band clinking against his own. “Are we in America?” he had asked.

Keith had kissed him, right there in the hospital ward. Several nurses certainly saw, and Keith did not even bother to keep up the brothers act after that. 

Shiro was discharged from the hospital in short order, and they had caught a train to Washington, and then from there to Richmond and Raleigh, then a quick stop in Memphis before the long ride to San Antonio, El Paso, and at last Santa Fe. Travel was exhausting and quite dull for Keith, but Shiro spent almost every moment with his nose pressed to the glass, gawking at the countryside, or asking Keith all about their next train stop. Keith was glad for all the atlases his father had shared with him, and told Shiro as much as he knew. Shiro had clung to every word, scribbling down the most intriguing tidbits of knowledge. 

When they weren’t talking, Shiro was drawing, sketching all of it down in the fine leather journal Allura had given to him as a parting gift. (He still sends her letters as often as possible.)

Shiro had been amazed by every new thing, then. Now, if it weren’t for his accent, you might not even guess he hadn’t been born on this ranch, too.

Keith looks away from the dusty window, where the bright sun streams in through a crack in the gingham curtains. On the nightstand, there’s another small pile of sketches – some of the knobby-kneed appaloosa foal, some of the grazing sheep, some of Keith’s parents, of the dog, and of Shiro’s new horse Corderoy, who is more ornery than Velveteen ever was. 

There are also sketches of Keith. They’re as strange to look at as they are lovely. Keith is sure he doesn’t look like how Shiro’s pen and pencil say he does, but he also knows Shiro is a damn good artist. If he really is so handsome and graceful as he is in those sketches, well, Keith isn’t complaining. He only wishes he could show Shiro how handsome he is, too. 

He settles with snuggling closer to him in their bed, nuzzling his stubble-rough face against Shiro’s. They’re both trying to grow beards, and Keith is winning. “G’mornin, sweetheart,” Keith mumbles into Shiro’s scruffy jaw. “We slept in late again. The chickens’re gonna have our hide, mm?”

Shiro stirs awake with a languid ease Keith once feared he was incapable of. He’s faintly smiling when he opens his eyes and sees Keith smushed up against him. “Good morning, my love,” he replies, his hand sinking into Keith’s messy hair, holding him where he is. “I’m more worried about your mother, truth be told.”

Keith yawns. “We owe Ma breakfast in bed, one of these days. She’d be persuaded to turn a blind eye with enough sausage and eggs.”

“I think she already turns a blind eye to _plenty_ of our tomfoolery,” Shiro chuckles, turning his head to give Keith a messy kiss. “She’s a good mother, though.”

“The best in the West,” Keith slurs, pressing closer. Shiro makes him feel drunk without touching a drop of whiskey. “Don’t talk about my Ma while you’re touchin’ me there, mister.”

“Where?” Shiro blinks at him innocently even as he squeezes Keith under the quilt, letting him rock his hips unevenly against his firm palm. “I haven’t the slightest idea –”

“Oh, shush,” Keith groans, half-tackling him to the bed again and mashing their mouths together. Keith’s kissing style could still be described as more enthusiasm than actual technique, but Shiro has no complaints. Keith’s talents in bed lie elsewhere. “We could stay in bed even later, if you’re amenable,” Keith adds against his shiny lips. “You gonna roll over for me, or ride me like last night?”

Shiro moans and drags him down harder. “Either,” he gasps, “both, anything.”

_“Anything,”_ Keith repeats, soft and breathless, and nudges Shiro onto his back. “I can give you anything, that, we can do.”

Shiro shudders and wraps Keith up in his arms and his smell and his kisses and his body, and Keith thinks, _We can have happy endings, and this is it, right here, with him._


End file.
